


Never A Game

by cadkitten



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Brainwashing, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Death, Desperation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fatherhood, Flirting, Gang Violence, Loud Sex, Murder, No Condoms, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Public Sex, Romance, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: A series of events brings Jack to a place in his life that he never thought he'd find. Guys like him didn't get to love, didn't get to have a family... or did they?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Commission from tumblr user. Widow76 1. Flirty Coquettish Widow 2. Dominant Dirty Talking Soldier 76 3. Happy Ending  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "One Million Bullets" by Sia
> 
> This is following on the same vein as Jack's little video Blizzard gave us, featuring Alejandra.
> 
> Note: tags are for full fic. All 9 chapters of it.

_One Year Ago_

Jack's feet made barely a sound on the cobblestones of the street as he moved along, keeping to the shadows. He wasn't sure what kept him coming back here, what little glimmer of _emotion_ it was that brought him here almost every night to check up on this girl, but he didn't fight it. Not once in all these months had he turned himself around without making the cursory check of the property, ensuring there were signs of life within, and then he'd fade into the night, go about his business of fighting his losing battle of cleaning up the streets of Dorado. 

Some nights he'd silently tuck away the knowledge of the gang members he'd removed from action and some nights he'd find himself aching and tired with nothing at all to show for it. In the end, it wasn't the number of them that truly mattered, but the slowly lessening number of horrors he'd find reflected in the news. The daily paper with one less headline of another meaningless death. The nightly news telling him one less person had been extorted or robbed blind. _Those_ were the things that truly mattered. Or at least that's what he had to tell himself each night as he laid down to sleep.

The scent of something burning met Jack's nose, the wind shifting direction just enough to provide the scent to him. His steps paused, his hand tightening on his gun as he listened, his gaze flicking between the shadows of the buildings. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing amiss, only the scent of what he was almost certain was burned bread.

His steps were a little quicker when he started moving again, feet quick on the stones of the street as he closed the distance between himself and the bakery. He rounded the corner, his breath sticking in his throat for a half second as he took in the door, half off its hinges, swinging in the gentle breeze of the night. The lights were flickering from inside, as if trying to go out.

Something inside Jack felt like it was ripping apart, tearing him into a million pieces, as if riddled by a hundred bullets. He slipped inside, his gun at the ready, his breath nearly silent as he crept along the tile floor, over the broken glass of the display case, toward the kitchen.

The scent of burnt bread grew as he nudged the metal door open with one boot. The lights were off, but one step inside flicked them on, bathing the whole place in bright florescent light. He swept the kitchen, including the cold storage and the dry shelving area before he truly let himself survey the damage: three bullet holes in the wall, a smudge of blood on the metal counter, a bloody smear in the flour scattered across the floor from an upturned bowl. He could see the scuffle in the coating of white scattered across the floor. One being dragged, one set of footprints - the wide set stance suggesting a man - being slowly obscured by the struggling person and then another spray of blood, a bullet hole in the metal cabinet by the back doors, and then the floury footprints were just smudges, droplets of blood falling along the way. 

Jack saw death in the final area, felt the rage well up inside of him, as he crouched by the initial set, trying to judge the size of the person. If it had been the girl or her mother. 

The faintest of noises came from the cabinets beside him and Jack tilted his head, _listened_ , barely breathing, until he heard the smallest hiccup of breath, and he felt _relief_ that he shouldn't have. There was shame behind it, the knowledge that he'd just been _glad_ this child's mother had been the victim.

He stood, took the few steps to the cabinets and crouched, his gun carefully to the side, the safety flicked on, and he reached to open the cabinets.

The instant the door opened, he was met with far more than he'd bargained for. The girl - Alejandra if he remembered correctly - launched herself at him. He felt her fist collide with his jaw, heard her shriek louder than he swore he'd ever heard someone's voice go in his life, and then she was utterly still, her breath hiccuping. Turning his head just enough to watch her, he saw her slowly look up at him, watched the fear in her eyes give way to grief, and then she was hugging him, her head shoved against his chest, her arms tight around his middle, and he did the only thing he _could do_. He shifted, placed his gun down beside him, and offered her the protection of his embrace – the very thing she so clearly needed – and when he felt her sobs, he _knew_ what he needed to do. _What he needed to say_.

"I'll find who did this. I'll find them and they _will pay_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "Scars To Your Beautiful" by Alessia Cara

_Present Day_

Jack reached up, pushing a stray lock of white hair back from where it was tickling his forehead. He _desperately_ needed a haircut; much longer and he was sure Alejandra's friend's parents would be teasing him about trying to regain his youth. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and he made a face as he finished up the last dish from the sink, rinsing it off and holding it out to his daughter. She took it with the dish towel, humming softly to herself as she began to dry it off.

Jack turned off the faucet, picked up the second towel and dried his hands, taking longer than necessary just to watch her, taking the opportunity of her distraction to study her features. It had taken so long for the pull of pain to disappear from around her eyes, for the constant frown tugging at her mouth to fade. Almost a full year had gone by before she'd become comfortable enough with him to start to let her humanity seep back in. 

The first time Jack had noticed it, it had given him pause. The frozen wall she'd put up between them from the moment he'd started the adoption process had come crumbling down almost overnight and for the life of him, he still didn't know what had changed, only that it had. He'd gone from the outsider who'd taken her in to her _father_ and there had been no denying the swell of pride he'd felt at that. No changing the fact that he knew he would have given her the damn world if given half a chance.

He supposed that, perhaps, that had been the day he'd become a father in his own mind as well. The change had been as much on his part as it was on hers. 

"You're doing it again." Her voice was quiet, the hint of a smile underneath it, and he let the breath of a laugh leave him, something he shared only with her, as he pushed away from the counter. His fingertips barely brushed her shoulder as he passed, dropping the dishtowel on the counter beside her as he made his way into the living room. 

"It's almost time for you to be there isn't it?" 

Her friend had invited her over, begged by way of her mother for a week before Jack had given in, told the kid and her mother that Alejandra could come over after dinner and stay the night _this one time_. 

He didn't like the idea of it - was far too protective of her to want her to be away from him for too long, but he also knew she needed her own life, one that didn't involve him. As much as he'd done his best to step up to the plate as a father, the truth of it was, he _wasn't_ her dad. He could try with every fiber of his being, but it was never going to make up for what she'd lost. She'd been too old for him to be able to take some of that pain away, had heard and seen too much that night, and really, knowing the truth - hearing it all from her very mouth - had made him that much more protective of her. _Too much so_.

This... this was a way for him to back off a bit. To give her a life outside of this home and her school and the bakery she insisted on trying to keep running part time. She was too young for such things, but Jack had never found it in him to tell her no, and so they masqueraded that _he_ was the one baking the bread, that each sweet treat she painstakingly created in their kitchen was instead created in the gleaming spotlessness of the kitchen not one of them had touched after he'd hired the crew to clean it up. 

No one questioned them and that was how he preferred it. He learned the answers to the questions, learned another language as completely as he could with far too little time to do it in, and he sold her pastries while she was at school each day. If he were honest, it was no different than any other front he'd ever run, than any other lie he'd ever led. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by the warmth of her hand on his back, the weight of her against his side for a moment before she was pulling away, heading for the door. 

"I'm going before it gets too late." 

He watched her go, silent until the door was closing behind her and only then did he offer a quiet, "Have a good evening." Maybe it wasn't what he should have said, wasn't what was expected to say to a departing child - and he _knew_ that - but he couldn't stop the nervous flutter of his gut as the door clicked shut, as he listened to her footsteps until he couldn't hear them anymore. 

Five minutes found him suited up, his gear out of the lock boxes and his visor clipped into place. He brushed the unruly lock of hair back from his eyes and slipped out the bedroom window into the falling darkness of the city.

\--

Jack's fist hit solidly against flesh and bone. He heard the sickening crunch of it beneath the thud of impact, The corner of his lip pulled up in a sneer as he brought his gun up to smash the guy right in the nose, watched him go down like a lead weight. 

There was movement behind him and he spun around, caught the second guy with the edge of his gun, dropped to a crouch as the guy slashed out with a switchblade. 

_Foolish_. He smirked as he brought his gun up and fired twice. The guy dropped to the ground and for an instant, Jack wondered if he'd chosen the wrong fight tonight, all of this far too easy. There was no challenge in these men most of the time, no true talent. They were all seething hatred and righteous anger, wrapped up in something far too volatile to be safe. 

Snatching up the guy's knife, he spun on the final gang member, the knife stabbing in just under his collarbone. He shoved until he was back against the wall, until the guy had both hands on his fist, trying to get him off the knife. 

Jack took a deep breath - the same deep breath he'd taken night after night since Alejandra's mother's death - and prepared to ask his question. _Who had killed the girl's mother?_

The breath brought with it a familiar scent, the barest hint of vanilla, the unique tones of bergamot and jasmine twining with it. Just beneath it, lily and _something else_. It was a scent he'd nearly memorized years ago, tracking down every lead in the world on where Amélie Lacroix had gone. He'd have recognized the scent of Shalimar in the midst of a damn field of flowers at this point.

Jack's finger found the trigger of his gun in an instant, had it up and the round chambered _waiting_ , his pulse pounding in his ears as he heard the gunshot ring out. The guy dropped and Jack crouched, watching as she dropped down into the alleyway with him, just as he remembered her. 

Her suit caught the light of the moon as she moved and he wondered - not for the first time - how she kept herself so well hidden until she wanted to be seen while she was wearing that thing. His gun tracked her as she moved toward him, the click of her heels on the pavement almost mesmerizing - would have been if he'd let it be.

She stopped next to the corpse's head, reached down and fished something out of the breast pocket of his jacket. Nothing in her seemed to pay any mind to Jack's presence. In fact, she [erased as much as] ignored him as she perused the card. He was almost certain she was just going to turn around and walk away before she met his gaze, held out the card toward him, the gold paper obvious. He took it from her, refused to look down at it at all, and tucked it away in his own pocket. 

Jack watched as she stood up, gave her rifle a cursory check, and then she was walking away - leaving Jack staring after her, wondering if she'd really been there or if he was hallucinating. He supposed with some of the shit he'd been through in his life, either was entirely possible.

Distantly, he heard the sirens, and he picked himself up, made sure he hadn't stepped in blood or anything, and hoisted his gun, disappearing further down the alleyway, into the darkness just as he always did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "Fortune Days" by The Glitch Mob

Jack crouched on the rooftop across the street from Rubio Serrano's. The faint smell of asada came from the propped open back door. He knew from experience that this place was delicious; he hadn't honestly realized _what_ it was until he'd been handed that damned card last night.

He'd spent the rest of his night casing the joint, making certain he knew the ins and outs of it - had gone so far as to break into the library and go through the microfiche of the building plans to ensure he knew how it was laid out in the areas he hadn't been in as a patron.

Jack had spent most of the day arguing with himself about bringing in backup. He knew there were people he could have called - knew if Symmetra or Ana were around they both would have helped him without a single question as to what he was doing. But he didn't want to risk it, to risk _them_ on his hell-bent crusade to make Dorado a better town. He could lie to himself all he wanted, say it was for the people, that it was because he was a _good_ person. When it really came down to it, he understood what it really was.

 _Revenge_. Plain and simple; he just wanted to put a bullet in the guy who'd put that look on Alejandra's face. It was seared into his memory, would haunt his dreams until the very day he died - of that much he was certain. 

He dreamed of it sometimes, of the sound of her hiccuping breath as she cried into his jacket, of her quiet pleas for him to make it all okay, of the way his hands had shook as he'd lifted her up off that floor and left with her, knowing damn well he'd never let her out of his sight again.

He'd wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his hands gripping the sheets or his pillow as if it were the neck of the man he would one day personally snuff the last flame of life from, and then he'd lay there for hours, waiting on sleep to come. It never would.

Standing, Jack allowed that feeling to consume him, felt it sliding through his veins, a liquid courage he'd never find a the bottom of a glass, and he stepped off the edge of the building, feet hitting the fire escape below. Another jump and he landed on the ground, darted across the alley just as the cook stepped out back. He took him down quick, one smack of the butt of his rifle to his head and he eased the guy to the ground - an innocent caught in the net of hell that writhed and seethed within this place.

He slipped into the kitchen, ducked into the dishwasher's alcove and removed the tiny cloth from the packet in his pocket, sliding it up over the guy's mouth, fingers pinching his nose so he had to inhale through his mouth. He was out in a second, barely any fight at all, and Jack laid him out on the floor, stepping back over him and waiting until one of the waitresses came back toward him to deposit some plates. There were two girls on staff today, waiting tables and all he had to do was ensure they were out of the way before he took out the rest of the kitchen staff, and made sure no one showed up who shouldn't. 

He stepped out of the shadows the instant she stepped onto the nonslip mat, repeating the process with her and laying her out next to the dishwasher. 

One quick glance and he chose the line chef, one quick butt to the back of the head and he was down, Jack crouching with him as he took him to the floor, swiping up under the second one, cutting off his yelp with the cloth over his nose. Three quick pants and the guy went limp and Jack was back up, yanking the surprised waitress into his grip and slamming the cloth over her nose, heel of his gloved hand digging into her mouth as she struggled and then went limp.

He leaned her against the wall beside the door, her feet blocking it, and he peered out into the dining room, not seeing any further staff beyond the girl all the way up front who seated people. She was scrolling through her phone, looking bored out of her mind, and he let her be, doing a quick check of the freezer and the plating shelves before he headed to the only other door in the joint.

He flicked the safety off on his gun, steeled himself, and then pushed the door open. Before anyone could move, he had two men down for good, a third gurgling on the bullet in his throat, clutching at it with both hands. 

Two more men came rushing from the sides and Jack chose the one on the right, put on a burst of speed and slammed him back into the wall hard enough it shook with the force of impact.

The window behind him crashed in, the sound of a silenced rifle firing twice disabling the man he was holding and presumably the other one who had been coming up behind him, since Jack didn't hear him anymore. 

He heard a chair creak and then the hiss of a voice he could never forget telling the guy to stay seated. 

Jack turned, brought his gun up, leveling it on her and the leader of Los Muertos. He wasn't so naïve as to believe he could truly take her down if it came to it, _knew_ her training as well as he knew his own. Hell, he'd _seen_ the files they'd stolen that outlined her every movement from the moment of brainwashing to the most intimate details of her kills. He knew her failures and her shortcomings, knew her successes and her instructions for everything she'd ever done... _except this_. This was so far out of line with what he knew of her that it had him questioning his own sanity again. But _that_ was a problem he could deal with later. 

He watched as she slipped her foot up onto the chair, brought the tip of her boot to press right against the guy's crotch and started to apply pressure. He watched the pain contort his features, saw the moment it went from painful to _agonizing_ right before she grasped the short hairs at the back of the man's neck and ripped his head back. 

Her gun rested at her side, free hand loosely holding it, pointed at the floor and Jack wondered again what her play was here. What _game_ she thought she was playing with him. 

"You had questions for this man?"

Jack's heart gave a quick thud in his chest as he took a single step closer, knew they were on borrowed time, and he headed straight to the point. "Last year one of your men attacked a woman in the bakery at the top of the hill." Jack watched recognition flash on the guy's face, _knew_ he comprehended exactly who Jack was, and he didn't give a shit if he did or not. It wasn't like the guy was going to be breathing much longer anyway.

Amélie's hand tightened on the guy's hair, Jack watched the way he ground his teeth, sucked in a breath, and then hissed out his answer. "Yeah, I remember."

"The woman?" Jack made like he was going to come forward and he watched the guy startle, heard the tremor in his voice as he bit out, "Dead!" in return to his question.

Anger swelled up inside Jack, took control of his feet. He didn't even get two steps before Amélie's foot was grinding against the man's sac. "Name."

"Luca! It was Luca!"

There wasn't even a breath between the words leaving the guy's mouth and the bullet that Amélie put through his skull, only the scent of gunpowder and the faint ringing in his ears that came with a gunshot in such close proximity.

The chair clunked back to the floor and Amélie stared at Jack for a moment before she was pulling herself back out the window she'd come in through.

Jack heard the shriek of someone from the kitchen area as he hefted himself out the window as well, letting himself fade into the darkness of the alleyway, wondering how he'd earned himself a new guardian angel and just how it had managed to be _her_ of all the people in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "I Revenge " by MXMS

Jack tailed Amélie all the way to her apartment. Some part of him understood that there was no way she didn’t know he was following her, that he could have been walking right into a trap for all he knew. It was sheer stubbornness that allowed him to treat that fact like it didn't matter. 

By the time he dropped down on her balcony, she was already waiting by the glass door. Her weapon was nowhere to be seen, which Jack took to be a good sign in an otherwise confusing sea of emotions.

Hitching his gun up over his shoulder, he stepped into her apartment, gave it a cursory glance, and followed her to the kitchenette where she settled onto one of the bar stools. He leaned his hip against the counter, kept his stance at the ready, and silently regarded her as she poured vodka into a shot glass, slammed the shot back without so much as flinching, and then carefully set the glass back down on the counter.

Longing pulled at his gut as he watched her push the bottle toward him, but he shook his head, shifted so he could ignore the bottle and confront her fully.

"Why are you here?" The question left him before he could stop it and he was left to wonder for a moment if blunt was really the best approach with her.

The ghost of a smile passed over her lips as she braced her forearms on the countertop, leaned heavily on them. "The world has grown... _tiresome_." Jack thought she was going to leave it at that, but the instant he prepared to speak, she was talking again, her voice achingly quiet. "Sometimes we all need something new, do we not?"

Something about that struck Jack as strange coming from her, of all people. Whispers of memories floated around his mind: images from the files, the videotapes he'd watched of how she was after the brainwashing, of her speech patterns and her expression of what should have been human emotions all seeming just the tiniest bit _off_. This _wasn't_ and Jack couldn't explain that in the face of all he remembered. Maybe she'd gotten better at what she was doing or maybe the forced reality of her mind was slowly fading away. He figured there wasn't much of a way to know for sure. 

All the same, he wanted to know _why_ she had chosen to help him on this crusade. Why she was even here, of all the godforsaken places she could have been on this planet. 

"Boredom doesn't really account for helping me mop the floor with Los Muertos. What's the _real_ play here?"

She looked up at him and he caught the glimmer of something in her eyes before that was gone, too, the usual flatness of them left behind. "When you see a situation through the eyes of the one you consider the enemy, you can find the reason for their every action. Even the worst person in the world believes themselves righteous, do they not?"

There was something about that, about hearing words he'd once spoken thrown back at him, that left his heart in his throat and uncertainty burning in his chest. When he'd spoken the words about Gabriel, it had been in some misguided effort to save a man he'd once considered his friend. Now, applying them to this situation with her speaking them, the only option left was to consider himself the enemy in her eyes. If she was helping him, then it could only mean she too saw his quest as the correct path and _that_ left an empty feeling in his gut, a hole he knew he'd have to spend time with when he laid in his bed alone at night. 

Pushing away from the island, Jack studied her for another long moment before he simply _left_. Not a single backwards glance, not another word, just the sound of his feet hitting the pavement and the rush of air around him as he swept through the winding streets of Dorado. It gave him time to think, not as much as being at home in the silence of his room would have, but it was enough. 

He'd give her the chance to help him in this, no matter what her true aim was. If she was taking down Los Muertos by his side, there was no harm in it. Just one more person to shoulder some part of the responsibility for his one-manned war on their terror, one more finger on a trigger when it came time to confront the possibility of his own death at the hands of one of these men.

Jack wasn't _stupid_ , he knew that every confrontation, every _mission_ he executed into their territory was one more time he might not make it out the other side alive; but, he also knew it was worth it, knew that finding the man who had killed his little girl's mother was worth any price in the world. Some part of him was still desperately confused as to his actions, as to why he'd take her in so willingly when he had nothing of substance to truly offer her. He wasn't _family_ , or at least he hadn't been, though he was fairly sure she regarded him as such now. He didn't know the first thing about taking care of a child or how to be a good parent, but he'd be damned if he wasn't trying on that front just as much as he was trying to track down her mother's killer. 

The sound of a passing motorcycle pulled him out of his thoughts. Drawing himself back against the wall, he waited until it was gone and then made the final dart across the street to his home, slipping in his bedroom window and stowing away his gear. Shrugging on his more socially acceptable jacket, he slipped out the window again and made his way down the block to Alejandra's friend's house. He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door, offering a nod at her mother when she opened the door.

The woman turned away from him, called out across the house for Alejandra and a moment later, his daughter appeared, tugging on her jacket as she slipped her feet into her sandals. Sandals he'd told her a million times weren't enough protection in the cold air of Dorado's nights. He didn't comment this time and they simply left, walking down the street together in amicable silence. 

He let them in the front door, watching as she dropped her bag by the door, ditched her shoes, and tossed her jacket over the back of the couch. Clearing his throat, he waited until she sheepishly came back and at least put up her jacket. "Time for bed, isn't it?" After all, it was a school night and he'd let her stay out an hour past what he should have, had been _late_ picking her up.

She sighed, but just nodded, traipsing off to the bathroom where he could hear her starting to get ready - the clink of her cup and toothbrush, the gentle sound of her brushing out her hair.

He flicked on the light in her room, gave it a once-over as he did every night just to ensure no unwanted guests were in there, and stepped back out, leaning against the wall outside her room. 

She came out of the bathroom and he swore he was looking at an angel. Her hair framed her face and she was glowing from the scrub she liked to use. Her steps paused in front of him and he gathered up every ounce of courage inside of himself, holding out one arm and waiting to see if she'd hug him. The first time he'd tried, he remembered the look of distrust on her face and he'd backed off immediately, hadn't so much as brushed against her for _months_. 

He knew it was her past that left her distrusting, not _him_ specifically, but it still put an ache in his gut. He knew her father had been ripped out of her life just as violently as her mother. He also understood that, in some way, it was that fact that left her not wanting to get close to anyone else. 

But now... it was different. She'd eventually been the one to come to him, to hug him one morning before she left for school, leaving him standing in the kitchen, stunned into perfect stillness until the scent of burning eggs had jerked him back to reality. He could still feel the swell of fatherly affection that had filled him in that moment, the knowledge that he'd finally been accepted into her life blossoming in his gut.

Alejandra stepped into his offered embrace, hugged him around the waist tightly as he rested his hand between her shoulder blades, and then she was drawing away, smiling up at him and whispering out a quiet, "Goodnight."

He gave her a warm smile in return, watching her disappear into her room, reaching to close the door behind her. "Sleep well." 

The door clicked shut behind her and Jack took a moment to gather himself back from the heady warmth of knowing he mattered to someone before he let go of the doorknob and headed toward his own bed. 

Maybe, just maybe, he'd have to watch his back a little better from here on out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "More Voltage" by The GlitchMob

" _Luca_."

Jack's voice was flat, every ounce of emotion he wanted to put in to this murdering scum's name tamped down by the sheer rage he felt just looking at the guy. The anger inside him burned so bright - so _hot_ \- that it left him feeling cold and empty as he ground the small gun he'd designed especially for this moment up under the man's chin.

He had him dead to rights, had cornered the sloppy son of a bitch trying to get some money off a couple teenagers. They were long gone now and Jack had knocked the guy out, dragged his sorry ass for blocks until he'd gotten him to the empty warehouse at the edge of town – a place where no one would hear this asshole scream. 

Jack let the muzzle of his gun dig in under his chin, _knew_ the cold bite of the metal as he pushed it up harder and harder until he heard the guy choke, watched him start to struggle against the ropes he'd used to lash him to the concrete pillar. 

He heard the quiet crunch of gravel under boots an instant before the scent of bergamot and vanilla reached him and he allowed his focus to remain on the man in front of him, knowing it was Amélie behind him. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why he was so willing to trust her presence around him, but he didn't really have time to dwell on that at the moment.

Amélie came to stand beside him, her rifle nowhere to be seen. She simply watched as Jack pulled the gun back, finally cocked it, and then pressed it back up under the guy's chin. He wasn't going to pull the trigger there, knew the foolishness of that particular action, but he also knew psychologically what it did to _feel_ the weapon that was about to kill you. He'd had the cold press of a gun at this throat before, had stared up into the face of death itself twice in his life, had felt the prickle of _regret_ that came with that instant, and he wanted Luca to feel that just as much as he had.

"Understand, Luca... this is for the woman you killed in the bakery. One _foolish_ action has cost you the ultimate price." Jack's voice was cold, quiet. He watched the flicker of fear in Luca's eyes as he shoved the gun up harder, watched him almost choke on the pressure of it. "You die here tonight as penance."

He heard the slide of a knife being pulled from a sheath, watched as Amélie turned it in her fingers and then brought it down right into the man's thigh. He watched pain alight in the guy's face, heard his scream pierce the air, _felt_ him start to writhe and he knew what had been on that knife, _reveled_ in it for a moment longer than he should have.

"Pain for pain." Amélie's voice was smooth, the whisper of it right against the man's ear making him stiffen before he screamed again.

Jack took a step back, took aim, and put a bullet right between the guy's eyes. He watched him go limp, allowed himself to feel all the conflicting emotions that he always tried so hard to shut off when it came to claiming a life. 

He'd once warned his recruits that if they let it, the conflict would consume them. The military hadn't taught him how to _deal_ with what he had to do. There had been no training on how to be a cold, hard killer, only training on _how to kill_. Jack had gone with a different approach for his teams, had given them the skills to cope with what they were going to have to do.

It came at a price and he could see that now, could see his mistakes along the way. The wrong people with the set of tools he'd handed them had turned deadly in a way he hadn't anticipated. Shouldn't have _had to_. 

He felt all of that now. The draw of both sides. There was satisfaction in this kill that there had never been in any other and he understood where that path could lead, had watched it happen with two members of his team. Taking in a deep breath, he slowly tamped down on all of it and turned away, pocketing his gun and leaving the warehouse behind.

He could hear Amélie following him, knew she was letting him hear the footfalls, and he felt the start of something he couldn't quite place boiling low in his gut. 

A few blocks and the fire in his veins ignited, left him feeling reckless and desperate for a way out of the emotions he was trying so hard to keep down. He turned the corner, melded into the darkness, and _waited_. She rounded it a few seconds later and Jack reached out, grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. In an instant, he was there, crowding her in, his gloved hand wrapped tightly around her throat, the other retrieving her knife from the sheath on her thigh, keeping it well out of her reach.

He let his anger and his fear grip him, let them tighten his hold on her, let them crowd him in closer to her. "What the _fuck_ is your game, huh?" His voice hedged on frantic and he knew he was letting everything get the better of him, knew he should just go home and wait this out. "Tell me!"

Her eyes reflected nothing but calmness and she gave no signs of distress at all over her airway being pinched mostly off by his hand. Amélie's hand came up, cupped the side of his mask - and Jack wondered if it was intentional that it wasn't the side with the release. He could almost feel the scrape of her nails down the side of it until she reached the jaw of it, her fingers gripping it tight enough Jack swore he could actually feel the pressure, and then she was leaning in. Her lips pressed to the metal right over where his own were hidden behind it and he heard her sigh against it.

Arousal hit him so swiftly it took his breath away, left him fighting back a desperate whine. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, since he'd so much as _looked_ at another person like that. He swore the temperature had turned up a few degrees in a split second and he was suddenly very glad she couldn't see how his lips parted, how he _wanted_ to kiss her back.

Her lips left his mask, her eyes piercing his own through the visor. "There is no game."

Jack's hold loosened and just like that, she slipped free of his grip, took her knife from his slackened grip, and then she was walking away, leaving him with the view of her swaying hips, of her outfit that left so very little to the imagination. Jack had honestly never noticed before, but _now_? He ran hot with the idea of taking it off of her, of running his hands over her body, of seeing how he could make her cry his name out as he pinned her beneath him.

He took in a shuddering breath, eased himself back against the wall, and told himself he was definitely losing touch with reality.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "The Devil" by Blue Stahli

Jack stood by his bedroom window, his eyes on the rooftop across the street. He could have sworn he'd seen movement over there some twenty minutes ago, though he'd seen nothing since then. It made him nervous.

Knowing Amélie was still in town, he had a feeling he knew exactly _who_ it was over there; it was only his confusion over what was actually happening between them that kept his feet firmly planted on his bedroom floor rather than rushing across the empty space between the houses to catch hold of the opposing fire escape. Two quick movements and he'd be on the roof, could take her down if he needed to. 

The itch to move burned in his veins, the turmoil of both wanting to know if it was her and the confusion of everything else he hadn't stopped feeling since three nights ago in that alley wrestled inside him, fighting for control. 

Stepping away from the window, Jack let the curtain fall back in such a way as to cover him retrieving his gun and gloves from the lock box. He mentally mapped the best way to avoid being seen leaving, to get to her without her noticing. He settled on a plan and then he was moving, faster than he'd needed to in years. His joints protested, but he pushed through it, wrapped around the whole block and came back up on the opposite side of the building.

Sure enough, Amélie was there, standing and looking toward his home whereas she'd clearly had to have been crouching before to be hidden behind the high wall of the roof. One final burst of speed and he grabbed her, wrapped his free hand around her throat from behind, yanking her back against him as he brought his gun up, just waiting on her to give him a reason. 

Instead, she eased back against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He watched as her eyelids fluttered shut, watched the sweet pull of her lips as they turned up into the hint of a smile.

"Jack, _darling_..." She held her hands out in front of her, the smile growing. "I am not armed."

Again those conflicting emotions surged inside Jack. He knew he was supposed to be angry, understood that portion of his reactions beyond a shadow of a doubt. The other half left him feeling like a teenager, left him questioning his grasp on the world around him. 

"This is _my_ home," he hissed out, desperate to cling to the one emotion he did understand how to deal with.

She hummed quietly, giving what would have been a nod if he'd let up on the pressure against her neck. "That is obvious."

Jack let out a snarl, was about to shove her toward the low wall surrounding the roof when she pressed herself more fully against him. The _other_ emotion surged and he nearly choked on it, almost didn't stop his hips from jerking forward. 

Lust raged in him instantly, leaving his thighs trembling with the effort of staying still, his teeth clenched against the way his pants were rapidly tightening. She'd feel it, there was no way she _wouldn't_ with how close they were, and Jack wondered how she was going to take this particular revelation.

Her hips gave a slow rock and Jack couldn't stop the groan that bubbled up, couldn't stop the pant of breath that betrayed him to his very core. His grip loosened and instantly, she was on her knees in front of him, her hands on his belt, and he could find nothing in him that was willing to stop this from happening.

Amélie licked her lips, gave him a knowing little smirk, and then she was popping the button on his pants, lowering the zipper and curling her fingertips under the elastic of his underwear. He felt the pressure of them up behind his sac and he had to shift his stance to keep him from pitching over with how quickly he was growing heady from what little had happened.

Her mouth was around him before he could register that he should probably stop pointing his gun at her, should properly enjoy this even if he was making a foolish mistake. His gun lowered to his side and he tipped his head back, sighing into the sensation of her tongue lapping along the underside of his cock, the gentle drag of her teeth. 

Jack groaned and he felt it echoed in the vibration around his cock, in the way she moaned around him at every single sound he made. He could feel his balls tightening already, even as he brought one gloved hand down to cup the back of her head, draw her down on him just a little bit more, he knew this was going to end far too soon. 

His toes curled in his boots and his breath caught in his throat, and then he was cumming with a strained little cry, choking off the real sound that wanted out. His cock twitched in her mouth and he felt her swallow around him. His knees went weak and he had to use her to steady himself, to not stumble forward as he panted for every breath, felt his eyes threatening to cross as she sucked him for all he was worth.

Finally, he had to pull back, gravel crunching under his feet as he staggered back a few steps, fumbling one-handed with his pants to try to get them closed.

He froze as she pushed herself up from where she'd been kneeling. She used one hand to wipe over her mouth, thumb carefully tracing her lower lip and then sucking it into her mouth. She smiled around it, dropped her hand to her side, and murmured, "Some things are _exactly_ as they appear, Jack."

Jack was left standing there, watching her disappear over the side of the building, the cool night air reminding him his pants were still open, reminding him he'd just gotten his rocks off on a damn rooftop where _anyone _could have seen.__

__He fumbled his pants closed and headed for the fire escape, uncertainty swimming in his gut._ _

__If this wasn't a game, then what was it?_ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "Blue Stahli" by Blue Stahli

It'd been one week since Jack found her on the rooftop overlooking his home, one week since he'd seen her at all, and he almost wondered if she'd left Dorado. He knew he could find out – could go to her apartment and either find it lived in or achingly empty – but something about doing that was like admitting he was already in too deep and he just couldn't let that stand. 

He avoided her side of the town at all costs, went the long way to get somewhere just to avoid it. He spent his days in the bakery, his evenings at home with Alejandra, and his nights roaming the streets, taking down the Los Muertos scum that still dared to pray upon the less fortunate. 

It was something to focus on, to keep his head in the game and firmly _out of his ass_. He'd yelled at recruits for less than this, remembered threatening to tie a rubber band around one of the younger ones' nuts that hadn't been able to keep it in his pants long enough to focus on a damn mission, and here he was worse than that. _Fraternizing with the enemy_. It was a damn betrayal of everything he'd been while he'd been with Overwatch and he knew it.

Jack crouched in the entryway to the old church, listened to the sounds of life all around him, did his best to train his thoughts only on the world as it was in this moment rather than the pieces of it that were missing. 

He heard the white noise of humanity's existence around him, heard the quiet hooting of an owl somewhere close by, and then he heard the broken-off cry, the half-sobbed plea of, " _Please_ ," and he was up and running toward it without a single ounce of hesitation. 

Rounding the corner, he was greeted with the sight of three gang members and one frightened looking young man. They'd backed him up against the wall and one of them was rooting around in his pockets, the other two holding him pinned as he struggled and pleaded.

Jack lifted his gun, pointed it at the one he could tell had a gun tucked in the waistband of his pants, and clicked his tongue a few times to get their attention. "I'd say it's about time you left this kid alone."

The one with the gun rounded on him, took on an inflated threatening sort of stance that made Jack want to laugh in his face. "Oh yeah, _old man_ , what you gonna do about it?"

Jack let the smile happen even though it was safely hidden behind his mask. "Oh, I'm gonna _make ya_." His finger touched the trigger at the same instant a gunshot rang out from his left. The guy went down without a single gurgle, dead the instant the bullet breached his skull. One of the others followed and Jack took down the third at precisely the same moment. 

The kid scrambled up and booked it. Jack considered for a moment that he'd never seen someone look so truly terrified in his life and he wondered if the poor kid thought he was next. He moved to the bodies, studying them as he waited on Amélie to show herself. 

It didn't take long and he wasn't disappointed as she came up behind him, her fingertips dragging over his back, so carefully up over his shoulder, and then along his bicep. Her hand wrapped around his elbow as she carefully stepped over one of the gang members so she could stand in front of him. Despite his visor, he met her gaze, held it as she reached up and gripped the chin of his mask. Her breath ghosted over where his lips would have been if there hadn't been anything in the way and he watched the smile that flirted over her lips.

"Follow me, Soldier." 

Her voice sent shockwaves through him, left him wanting like he'd never wanted before, and he knew nothing in the world was going to stop him from following her wherever she wanted.

They moved through the night almost silently, made their way to what had to be the cheapest motel Jack had ever seen. He hadn't even really _noticed_ the place; it was just that sort of establishment – the kind you turned a blind eye to avoid realizing what probably went on behind each of the doors.

She let them into a room at the very end and Jack closed the pathetic excuse for a door behind him, unclipped his mask before he could really think better of it, let it fall on the table next to the door. His gun and jacket joined it as he tracked her across the room, watched her deposit her weapon on the dresser furthest from the bed, her gloves following. 

Jack removed his own as she turned her back to him, reached behind herself and started to lower the zipper on her suit. His breath caught as he watched, the slow burn of arousal starting up inside him as he stood there, watching her strip for him. He knew it was intentional, her movements built to get him worked up, but he couldn't find any reason to deny himself the pleasure of watching her. She'd brought him here for a _reason_ and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to play along with whatever this was.

Amélie stepped out of her suit, leaving it pooled on the towel she'd been standing on, then she was walking toward him, and he toward her without a single ounce of control over his own feet. 

She turned as she caught his wrist, guided him to the bed, and then eased herself down onto it. She sank down against it, her forearms bracing her, _everything_ on display for Jack as he stood there, considering what he was about to do.

His hands were on his pants, unfastening them as he talked himself out of backing out, told himself he was _allowed_ to do whatever he wanted; he wasn't a part of Overwatch anymore, wasn't guided by the hand of the government either. _This_ was all on him to decide, not on some entity larger than himself. It didn't matter who she was, who she used to be, or who she'd been while he'd been hunting her down. What mattered was that she was right here in front of him, offering him everything he wanted, and all he had to do was _take it_.

Jack lowered his zipper and slipped his underwear out of the way, palmed himself as he moved behind her. He placed one hand on her hip, promised himself he'd only give in _this one time_ , and then he was pushing into her tight heat, groaning at how good it felt to finally do this again. 

His hands settled on her upper thighs, held on tight as he pressed up against her tightly, as deep inside her as he could possibly be. His hips rolled and he heard her breath catch, _knew_ she wanted this just as badly as he did. 

Something inside him snapped, the last vestiges of what had been holding him back falling away as he hunched over her, one arm going around her waist, the other bracing him on the bed. He started to thrust into her, heedless of the noise he was making, of the way the bed was protesting, or of how he grunted with almost every jerk of his hips. 

Jack shifted, pushing one knee onto the bed and then he was ramming into her so hard he _ached_ , so hard she was crying out with every thrust. Her hands were fisted in the bedsheets, her grip white knuckled and Jack reveled in the _power_ it took to put her in such a place. Excitement gripped him and he stopped trying to do anything remotely like impressing her, instead allowing lust to take control, to drive him faster and _harder_ into her. 

Pulling out, Jack shoved her further forward on the bed, got between her legs, his knees pressing hers further apart, and then he was back inside her velvet heat, was holding her hard against him as he jerked his hips in quick little thrusts, causing her to cry out at each and every one of them.

Someone banged on the wall and somewhat distantly, Jack heard them tell them to shut the fuck up, but it wasn't anything he wanted to dignify with an answer. Instead, he panted roughly, desperately fucking up into her, his cock filling her over and over until he swore he was going to pass out from the intensity of this pleasure. 

He felt her flutter around him, the ghost of an orgasm, nothing he should have been _proud_ over, but it was enough to tip him over the edge of sanity. He hunched over her again, this time with one hand pressed up between her breasts, feeling them move as he fucked her. His lips pressed against her shoulder and he closed his eyes, losing himself in her. A sensation like leaving his own body came over him and he sighed into it, rode it as he chased his orgasm, allowed himself to _enjoy_ what he was doing. 

She moaned and he breathed out, "Tell me you like it." The words were gentler than they should have been, weren't as forceful as the last time he'd spoken them to someone, and he marveled at what _time_ did to a man.

Her hand came up, pushed his hand down her torso, pressed it between her legs, and he took the hint, found her clit and pushed his fingers along both sides of it, causing her hips to jerk. 

"I like it."

He groaned as he pulled almost all the way out, held the position as he worked over the slick flesh of her clit, as she started to clench around the head of his cock, and he worked her faster. He kept going until she was trembling, until her entire being strained for it, and he let his teeth graze over her shoulder, felt warmth blossoming inside him that he was doing this to her, and he whispered out something he'd never thought he'd say again, "Tell me who's making you cum."

" _Jack_!"

He felt her clench down hard and then she was nearly screaming and the banging on the wall was back. Jack shoved into her, kept working her until her hand ripped his away from her clit, and then he was holding her still as he strained over her, his hips jerking violently against her ass as he filled her again and again. 

He let himself look down, let himself see his cock penetrating her, and that was all it took to send him into free fall. He choked out some half version of her name, barely able to breathe as he buried himself in her, his cock throbbing as he came. 

It took him a few minutes before he could convince himself to move, realized his mind was blessedly free of all the usual swirl of thoughts, and he resisted the urge to laugh like a complete nutjob. 

Sliding out of her, he moved off the bed and turned away, using a tissue to wipe himself up and tuck his cock away.

By the time he turned back around, she was pulling her suit back on, facing away from him, and Jack watched her back for a moment, wondered again what exactly they were playing at with all of this. He couldn't honestly figure it out anymore. It didn't seem like she was stringing him along toward some horrible end and he couldn't find reason to doubt any of what had happened between them other than _who_ she was. He just wasn't certain that mattered anymore. 

He shrugged his jacket back on, fastened it up and pulled his gloves back on. He hefted his gun against his shoulder and glanced back at her, finally offered the only question he could find to ask. "What is this?"

She didn't turn around, but he heard her as if she were whispering the answer directly in his ear. "Exactly what it looks like."

Jack sighed, turned back toward the door, and let himself out into the night. If she wasn't lying, if this wasn't some elaborate plan to draw him in and then gut him for his efforts, then there was truly nothing left to lose.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack settled on the edge of his own bed, shifted forward until his forearms were braced on his jean-clad thighs, hands pushed up into his white hair, holding on perhaps tighter than was necessary. He heaved out a quiet sigh, pushed his hands back through his hair as he dropped his head forward, closed his eyes and tried to talk himself out of what he knew he was about to do.

It'd been three days since the hotel, since he'd tasted what it was like to be with Amélie, and all he'd done since was think about the next time he'd see her. He'd even managed to miscount some poor woman's change at the bakery while he'd been off in his own head, remembering how she'd felt around him, how he'd felt having to walk out of the room afterward. It was bordering on _obsession_ and he knew it, though he was helpless to stop it.

Maybe it had been a mistake, allowing himself the freedom to sleep with her when he _knew_ how his mind tended to wrap itself around a physical connection. He'd always thought people were protesting too much when men would blame women for being the ones who held onto things too much, how they'd made things what they weren't after something sexual. He'd thought them crazy, because it was exactly what _he_ did when given half an opportunity. It was part of why he'd shut down a half dozen arguments of the sort back in Overwatch training camp. 

Pushing himself up from the bed, he made the only decision he really could, given the circumstance. He pulled on his jacket, his gloves, clipped his mask into place and pocketed a good sturdy knife from his collection of weapons, choosing to leave his gun behind. Sure, it was a risk, walking in without one. It was the old cliché of bringing a knife to a gun fight if she chose to betray this fragile piece of trust he was putting in her, but he supposed that that, too, was a learning opportunity if it came to it.

He gave one quick check to make sure Alejandra was definitely asleep, and then let himself out into the night.

It didn't take long to find Amélie, the trail of blood and death she left behind her an easy enough one to follow. It'd apparently been a very productive night as far as removing key pieces of the structure that supported Los Muertos went.

This time it was he who dropped down into the alleyway behind an all-night grocer, he who walked up behind her.

Before he reached her, she spoke up, her voice soft in the oddly quiet street. "There's a new leader. Someone else stepped up, like they always do."

Jack hesitated behind her, gave it a moment, and then settled his hand on the small of her back, letting it trail around her waist as he came around her, took in the body on the ground in front of her, so obviously tortured for information, and he winced, looking away, choosing to look at her instead. 

He could overlook this, too. It was as much a part of her training as it was his own. Different methods, different schools of thought, but it all came out the same in the end. Tortured souls, screams he'd never forget, choked words of dying men, giving him the vital pieces of information to return to his government. 

The memory left his hands clammy, his thoughts swirling, and he only dimly realized what he was doing, his hand releasing his mask, the other drawing her in, and it was only with silence that he let her know his intentions. He gave her time to escape it, time to turn him away. When she didn't, he kissed her the way he had wanted to from the very first time they'd ever met. He kissed her with years of pent up desire, with all the turmoil and confusion that boiled in his gut, with all the lust that burned like molten lava in his veins. When they parted, it was to the sound of her panting breath, to the unsteady rhythm of his own, and to the knowledge that there was no going back from whatever this was between them any longer. There hadn't been from the instant he'd allowed himself to touch her in that hotel room. 

Jack pulled away, allowing himself to be the leader this time. They made their way across town to her apartment and she let them in without comment. 

Jack left a trail of his belongings behind him, shoes and jacket, gloves and shirt trailing across the floor toward her bedroom, watching her strip the whole way. By the time he hit the bedroom door, she was gloriously devoid of clothing and he was pushing his own down his hips. He stepped out of them, leaving that, too, behind on her floor, following her onto her own bed. 

This time, they moved up the bed together until she was nestled in amongst her pillows, until Jack was pressed between her thighs, his mouth hot against her neck. He burned for her, but in a completely different way than before. Whereas he'd wanted to be _in_ her before, so desperately that it had been impossible to keep himself from doing it before anything else, this time he simply wanted to _know her_.

His lips tasted her skin, his hands roaming the expanse of her sides, her hips, and her thighs. Even as he started to move lower, he kept as much contact with her as he could manage, her legs pressed to his sides, his arms bracketing her in as he leaned down and pressed a kiss right above her clit. One hand shifted to help him, gently parting her lips as his tongue delved in, slowly lapping over the little straining nub. His tongue teased until she was panting for every breath and only then did he drop lower, pressing his entire mouth against her and slowly spearing his tongue in, again and again until she was arching up from the bed, _keening_ at his every thrust into her. 

Her hand moved to her clit and he kept doing what he was as she started to stroke herself, working quickly over the glistening flesh. Her thighs trembled and he pushed his tongue in as deep as he could, licking his way back out, and then stabbing his tongue back in. She choked out a cry and then he could feel her spasming around his tongue and he groaned, lust surging through him full-force. 

He moved over her in an instant, pushing between her thighs, and right inside of her, feeling the last few spasms around his cock, marveling in it as he just remained still.

Her legs curved around him, drawing him in deeper, and Jack let himself lean down over her, let her catch his mouth with her own, and he moaned into it as he started to move, thrusting in deep with every movement of his hips. He was forceful, but not brutal, his thrusts jarring her enough to jiggle her breasts, but not enough to thump the bed against the wall. She moved one foot to the bed and he groaned as she started to help him move.

Their lips parted and he pushed one hand back through her hair, studied her as he moved inside of her, a smile starting to pull at his lips. "Tell me who's making you feel this good."

He watched something flicker in her eyes and then she was breathing out, " _You_."

He moved then, getting more leverage for his thrusts, allowing himself to start to ramp up, the intensity of his desire tingling in his thighs as he rocked into her. He wasn't sure he _dared_ do this, but it'd been so long since he'd given in to the near-constant desire he had to hear one particular word spoken to him in such a very _very_ specific kind of way. 

His hand delved into her hair, holding on as he thrust harder into her, as he strained over her and then managed to get the words out. "Tell Daddy how good his cock makes you feel."

She let out a cry as his hips jerked up against her rougher than he'd intended, the word leaving his tongue making him almost pant. His cock throbbed and he knew there was no stopping him from barreling toward his orgasm now that he'd spoken it. He arched into it, hips jerking wildly.

He felt the bite of her nails on his forearms, felt her clench down around him. She started to meet him, thrust for thrust, and then she was crying out that word, _his word_ , and Jack had never been more certain that he was going to cum. 

He thrust up into her again and again, until he finally stilled with a shout, his cock straining and then he was releasing thick spurts of cum right up inside her, moaning as he gave her a few good thrusts to go with it. 

Amélie rolled her hips, arched up under him, and then settled with a pleased little sigh, and Jack took his time before he moved off of her. He settled beside her on the bed, allowed his fingers to slip between her thighs and push up inside of her, feeling what he'd left behind and marveling in it. Maybe it wasn't the smartest way to live, but he knew her files like he knew the touch of his own hand around his cock. He knew what her body was and was not capable of just as much as he knew what a low chance his own ever had of producing anything with enough motivation to get anywhere. The fraction of a percent of a chance they had of something happening was worth the feeling of doing this with someone and he knew she had to agree or she would have been shoving condoms at him from the start.

Her hand took his wrist, slowly helped him thrust his fingers up into her until she was faintly trembling, riding down hard on his fingers, gasping _that word_ again, leaving him frantic to make her cum, his cock making him wish desperately he were twenty years younger. 

She came abruptly, a few throbs around his fingers as she collapsed back against the bed, and he pulled his fingers free, wiping them on the sheets before he placed his hand on her thigh, lay there idly rubbing it as he studied her. 

"Amélie..." he waited until he had her full attention, her eyes locked on his before he continued. "If this isn't a game... then what is it? Really."

He watched her as she sighed, tipping her head back and breathing out a resigned sort of, "Okay..." 

She moved until she was resting against his chest, her chin on her hand as she stared up at him, and then she offered him what he could only believe was the truth. "It's wearing off... what they did to me. Not quickly and not a lot of it, but it's... fading. I can _feel_ again, to some small degree." She shrugged and Jack thought she looked vulnerable for the first time since he'd known her. "I did not intend to find you here, but when I did, I _remembered_ things. The kindness you gave me, the way you were so concerned when I came back in amongst you as a traitor... the things it should have made me feel then and didn't."

Amélie offered a small shake of her head as she pushed herself up and climbed off the bed, retrieving a robe from her dresser and pulling it on. "You are safety, Jack. _My_ safety."

He didn't get to so much as open his mouth before she was gone, disappearing into her bathroom, the door shut and locked behind her, and honestly, he understood. That wasn't the sort of revelation someone particularly liked to drop and he'd basically demanded it of her.

Jack was quick getting his clothing on, even quicker finding the pen and paper on her nightstand and leaving her his phone number, scrawled across it. He didn't want to crowd her after that, but he didn't want to leave her thinking he'd run for the hills either. 

All the same, he had Alejandra to think about. Had to get home before his daughter found him missing.

He paused at her door, looked back toward the closed bathroom door, and he let his breath whistle out from between his teeth. It'd been a long time since someone had relied on him like this, a long time since he'd been something other than a ghost of who he once was.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox / "Crazy in Love" by Beyoncé

Jack leaned against the door frame, the heavy wooden door open behind him, the screen pushed out with his foot. He could hear someone down the block playing the guitar, the yells of small children as they played. The air smelled of smoked meat and the start of the breads that Alejandra had put in the oven this morning. It was a rare day that the bakery was closed and he had the day to _indulge_ and he was taking full advantage of it. 

He pushed the screen open just a bit further, leaning down and opening the small wooden chest that sat under the eave, fishing out the pack of cigarettes there. He flipped open the cardboard container, fished out the lighter and one menthol, lighting it carefully and then slipping the lighter back in, tossing the pack back into the chest, closing it with his foot as he propped the door with his hand. 

Settling back to his prior stance he took a small drag and blowing it back out from between his lips, letting the smoke waft out into the heat of the day. His tongue darted out, ghosted over his dry lips as he simply enjoyed what he only did once in a while these days. 

He remembered the look on Alejandra's face the first time he'd lit up after he'd taken her in, the way she'd plucked the cigarette from his fingertips and told him he had to _live_ for her. 

Those words had stuck with him, encouraged him to reduce how much he was willing to smoke and, for the most part, he'd stopped. At times, he'd still do this, though it had been weeks since the last one, and he didn't really crave it so much as enjoy it as a simple pleasure of life. It was no longer the old habit it had once been.

Of course, quitting had been a _bitch_ , but certain things had helped him through it; in the end, it was worth it.

He took another drag, closed his eyes and breathed the smoke out, putting the cigarette out the door to flick the ash from it. Another scent wafted to him, one that quickened his pulse and tugged at the carefully stowed feelings of lust in his gut. "You might consider less of the perfume if you want to sneak up on someone." He cracked open his eyes, found Amélie standing in front of him, and he resisted the urge to laugh at the look on her face - somewhere between affronted and amused.

Pitching his cigarette out, he watched as she carefully stepped on it, grinding it out against the pavement, and then he was holding the door open, inviting her in wordlessly.

One glance over her body and he could tell from the skin-tight leggings, the gauzy purple shirt over the smallest tank top he'd ever seen - that she didn't have a single weapon on her body. In fact, he was fairly certain she didn't have identification or even a key for her apartment on her, and he mused at that simple fact as he pushed the door shut and followed her into the living room.

He gestured at the couch, taking a seat next to her when she chose the center cushion. He spread his arm over the back of the couch and almost instantly, she had her sandals off and had pressed herself up against his side, one hand on his thigh, nowhere near dangerous territory and Jack thought that it was very _domestic_ of them, to end up like this so effortlessly. 

"Rare seeing you during the day," he finally offered, despite how the silence was honestly more comfortable to him than the words were.

"You were not at the bakery."

He arched an eyebrow, knew he shouldn't have been surprised she'd look for him there first, but he accepted it. "Baking day. A few times a month we bake like crazy."

Amélie's fingers flexed against his thigh again and then she was moving, drawing herself onto his lap, straddling him. Their eyes met for a moment and he saw more than a flicker this time, saw something completely naked there, and it stole his breath away.

Her lips met his a second later and Jack swore the passion had amplified a million times from what it had been last time. He drew her closer, one hand on her thigh, the other pressed against her back as he deepened the kiss even further, their tongues teasing against one another, his heart beating a frantic staccato in his chest at the sensations she was providing him.

Her hands were quick to change places, between them, _teasing him_ before he could truly register that she'd moved, and he groaned, arching into it, She worked him until he was hard in his blue jeans, until his own hands were fumbling with his belt in an attempt to beg what he wanted from her without ever stopping kissing her.

Amélie pushed his hands away, unfastened his pants on her own, her hand sliding inside his briefs to wrap around him, to stroke him so gently that Jack's next sound was that of frustration. He felt her smile against his lips, her hands leaving him as she shimmied around on his lap, and then he was being freed of his underwear. Her hand steadied him and then she was easing down on his cock and Jack was _in shock_ , not having expected to be inside her so quickly.

He parted from the kiss just long enough to look down, to see how she'd bunched her leggings around her upper thighs, barely giving him enough room to get his cock inside her, keeping her somewhat restricted due to where the material was sitting, and he felt everything in him go from slow burn to raging inferno in that half a second.

Her hands buried in his hair as she moved over him, slowly lifting up and then settling back down on his length. Amélie pressed her lips against his ear and Jack could feel the smile on them as she whispered to him. "Couldn't _wait_... needed you inside me."

Jack's breath hitched and before he could stop himself, he was holding her hips, was thrusting up into her using his feet as leverage against the rug. The couch was protesting, but Jack didn't care, _couldn't_ care. 

His head fell back, his lips parting, and he swore he was surrounded by everything he'd ever wanted in his life, swore he was on top of the damn world. A shiver ripped through him and he was gasping for every single breath, surging up into her tight, wet, heat with everything he had. 

Amélie's whisper against his ear, her breathy gasp of _his_ word left him soaring, left him feeling like he'd just started a halo jump, his heart pounding, his pulse skittering in a way he hadn't had happen since he'd been in _love_ so long ago, and he _knew_ no matter how crazy it was, no matter how utterly _mad_ it was, that he wanted Amélie with everything he had.

He choked out her name and an instant later, he was plunging into his orgasm, surging up into her, straining as he pushed deep inside of her, his cock throbbing. He felt her tighten around him, as if she were trying to hold onto him, and he sat there, doing his best to sort his mind out as quickly as possible.

The very moment he thought he'd pulled it together enough to move, he did. He lifted her, exchanged their places and pulled her leggings all the way down, discarded them somewhere behind himself and then brought her forward until she was at the edge of the sofa, until she was bared to him and he was on his knees, his mouth pressed against her without so much as preamble. 

He tasted himself, his own salty essence combined with her, and he didn't bother to pretend he didn't like it as he licked it from her, as he swallowed it down without any reserve. 

Her fingers threaded in his hair, holding on as he moved between teasing her clit and simply licking her clean of his own cum until she pulled him up, stared down at him like she was queen of the damn world. "Tell me, who's making me feel this good?"

Jack managed to groan out his own name, watched the amusement sparkle in her eyes, and then he was back, tongue delving in deeply, taking from her until it was just her own taste left inside her and then he was slowly sucking at her clit, lips wrapped around it in some absurd simulation of what she would have done to him, and she was straining against him, pleading and shaking, and then she was falling apart beneath him and Jack came up over her, pressed two fingers inside of her to feel the aftershocks.

His lips found her neck, his teeth grazing between whispered words. "Daddy knows how to please you."

She made a little sound and he rocked against her once, stilling to hold her there, to study her until he felt like he'd found heaven itself.

Maybe it was crazy. Maybe it was all a damn game and maybe it wasn't. Whatever it was, Jack only knew that he wasn't letting it go without a fight. 

Guy's like him - ex-military, ex-Overwatch... they just didn't get to live life with the rest of the world without something derailing. He'd told himself a thousand times that he'd never get _this_ : a kid he'd give the damn world for, the start of whatever was happening between him and Amélie, yet here he was with both and he'd be damned if he was going to let it slip through his fingers.

_Because some things were worth fighting for._


End file.
